Battle Scars
by pauciloquy
Summary: Knockout AU. Sneak Peek: "Everything is fast, slow, disjointed. Reality is flickering, temperamental, existing only in ephemeral lapses between blue and red. She turns and turns again." (Spoilers for Knockout and Rise)
1. Chapter 1

"_Kate, I love you. I love you, Kate."_

Everything is fast, slow, disjointed. Reality is flickering, temperamental, existing only in ephemeral lapses between blue and red. She turns and turns again. Dazed. Lanie crashes into her and knocks her away. She catches a shock of Alexis's hair and she goes to reach for her but Ryan is there, pressing the girl's shoulder and she's gone. Everyone is moving. Going.

"Beckett!" Esposito shoves at her. Rough and impatient. She's stumbling and his hand pushes hard against her spine. "Go, go," he yells, as the doors shutter him out.

The space is too small and Lanie is pressing back into her. She's angry. Lanie's angry and she's growling at her, "Move, Kate, move."

She does, she shuffles back, presses herself up and away. She focuses and tries to make herself small, tries to give them all space. Lanie looks back at her and Kate whispers, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." She is, she's sorry, because she's too big and there's no space for her here.

Her knees buckle and hit hard against the metal floor, body skittering down beside the trolley. Thick, warm blood pooling on the floor seeps up into her uniform. "God, I'm so sorry," she repeats, bends forward to presses a desperate plea into his hair, "please don't leave me."

"Beckett!" Lanie snaps and she realises the paramedic is rushing on, barking questions at her. She answers. She's answering, date of birth and allergies and operations he had when he was a kid. She says, "Codeine. Codeine. He had a stomach ulcer once."

Blood. There's too much blood, she knows. Lanie is frantic, body surging up and into him and the EMT's shouting, pushing her away. Lanie knocks her hands away and his body jerks and crashes, electricity surging through him. It's only a second and they are all back on him. Lanie is fast and she wants to say _thank you, thank you _and _Lanie, I can't do this, don't let him die._

The doors fly open and she's too slow. His hair slips out of her fingertips. She's running, her shoulders crash against the swinging doors and she keeps moving. Her heel slips in the stream of blood they've left behind and she goes down. Her hip connects with floor and she pleads, wails, "Please!" though she knows no one can hear her. Nobody is listening.

It's too bright and they're leaving, they don't have time for her. She gets to her feet to go after him, to just stay with him. She rounds the corner and catches sight of Lanie, still straddled over him, pumping furiously at his chest and scolding him, scolding him even now.

She hears Lanie's voice, strict and demanding and drifting further away, "Come on, Rick, don't you die on me. Stay with me, stay with me."

After that everything is muffled and broken. She can barely make out the voices, stuttering and talking over each other, fast and sharp and useless.

"Single GSW to the left chest."

"Come on, Rick, do not die. Do not die."

"Set up for a chest tube, Trauma 1."

"Switch, we got this."

"This is _my_ friend, you understand me, he's my friend."

"Then let us save his life."

It's the last thing she hears before they disappear through another set of doors and she falters, body wreaked and trembling, frozen. _Please, don't leave me_.

A moment later the doors squeal, startling and too loud. She picks her head up. Lanie is there, shadowed by the swinging doors with nothing but an apology breaking over her face. She steps forward, bloodied hand reaching out for her friend but Kate she stumbles back, her spine connects with the wall. She vehemently shakes her head and it stops Lanie's approach. "No, Lanie, don't," she sobs, "I love him."

The unspoken, _I'll never forgive you_, _I'll never forgive myself,_ hangs heavy between them. Nodding, Lanie sighs, "I know, sweetie, I know you do", and Kate is in her arms, hanging limply over her shoulders and shuddering with grief.

Kate hears Ryan's voice, furious and determined, the roughly barked orders bouncing off the walls and she turns. She catches the red flash half a second before the air is pushed sharply from her lungs and her shoulder blades crack roughly against the wall. The sharp jut of Alexis's chin presses hard against Kate's sternum and she straightens her spine, offers the girl the little that is left of herself.

Thin, rattling arms wrap around her waist and Kate bundles her up, the young girl suddenly so small, so fragile. Kate rests her chin on Alexis's head, keeps her close. "They just took him in," she murmurs.

* * *

_This is my first fanfic and I would love to know what you think, if you would like to see this continued and if you have any constructive advice._

_p.s. I know a lot of people think the Kate/Alexis dynamic is somewhat false when they are made too close, and I tend to agree, however, their relationship before the whole, "I'll call you" thing was quite different and turning points, I believe, could have lead them on a different path. The angst between them will still rise here, but in a different way._

_Thanks guys!_


	2. Chapter 2

The violescent twilight sky starts bruising into a battered blue outside as the seven of them, dressed in black and marred by circumstance wait silently in cold plastic chairs. The place is sterile, quiet and unpromising and the sharp smell of chemicals they used to mop up the bloodied entrance is still burning at the back of Kate's throat.

The boys come and go, they pace and huddle and say things she doesn't understand. Lanie at least washed his blood from her skin but their clothes are hardening with it and the coppery smell lingers heavily around them. Martha and Alexis are pressed against each other, folded awkwardly over sharp armrests with empty eyes and her dad is folded up next to them, silently there, like always.

Ryan is the one who surprises her. He spreads himself thin and fills up the spaces that she has abandoned. He is fast and methodical, unwavering now when they all need him. Esposito is throwing his weight around like a rampaging rhino, but they are moving around each other seamlessly. She catches snatches of their conversations, Ryan is setting unreasonable deadlines, calling in favours now because he can, because he is quiet and hard-working and more people owe him than they will ever know. Espo jerks about, shaken and restless, he settles beside Lanie, he brushes a hand to Kate's shoulder, he moves along again.

The sun drops away completely. Still, nobody speaks.

"Ah, Beckett," Ryan says, nodding to the doors at the far end of the hall before barking down his phone again.

"Kate, a sniper at a funeral?" Josh questions indignantly, clearing the doors and staunching toward her.

She jumps up, presses her tired fingers to his shoulder and ushers him out into the hallway before he can say anymore, everyone's eyes already burning with white hot anger. "Josh," she starts but is cut off when she steps around the corner and he gathers her up. She stiffens against him, against his too tight hold. He tucks two fingers under her chin to lift her face before he speaks, voice deep and rough with panic, "Jeez, Kate, it could have been you. I'm just so glad it wasn't you."

It startles her. Even though it shouldn't, even though she knows it shouldn't. It startles her and she jerks away from him. "What?" She exclaims, palm pressed to his chest and knocking him back. "It _should _have been me, Josh! That bullet was for me!" She hisses, fury bubbling hotly in her veins.

"My god, Kate, you can't tell me you actually feel guilty about this. This was his fault. He is the one who pushed you back into your mother's murder. He was shot because he opened up her case and so was Montgomery. This is_ his_ fault, Kate, not yours."

Her hands knot up into fits against her side and she's about to say she can't do this, about to tell him to leave, when she's sees his eyes widen and she turns a second too late.

"Shut up! Don't you dare say that!" Alexis shouts, as she lashes out from behind Beckett and shoves Josh, long hair flicking up behind her as she jerks with the harsh movement.

He stumbles, hits the wall and rights himself. "Whoa, Alexis," Beckett gasps, turning to grab hold of the girl's shoulders. She reels her in fast and wraps her up. Beckett twists over her shoulder, "Go, Josh. Now!" She spits, harshly.

Alexis's body is stiff with anger and Beckett tries to soften her own edges in compensation. "Why was he even here, Beckett?" Alexis growls into Kate's collar and then suddenly she is pushing against her. She breaks Beckett's hold and turns to leave, long streams of fire flying out around her as she rapidly twists back toward her, "Or actually, you know what, what the hell are_ you_ even doing here?" she hisses. Eyes hardening and shoulder's squaring off just like her father, the girl paces, raging as she circles and circles around Kate. "Why don't you just go, Beckett? Just go with your stupid boyfriend!" She finally spits.

The fury is almost viscous in the air and it straightens Beckett's spine. Alexis is still pacing, anger fuelling her body as she stalks dangerously around Kate. Kate's fingers furl and unfurl against the still damp material of her uniform. Her hand reaches out and falls back to her side. Alexis's tightly wound body begins to tremble, her lithe frame faltering as she turns herself around and around.

Finally Kate strikes out, one swift movement and she has the girl tucked into her own body. Her arms wind tight around Alexis's shoulders trapping the girl's bent arms and balled fists between them. The angry shudders coursing through the girl knock against Beckett and she holds on tighter, squeezes her arms and gets an ankle around one of the girl's. She curls down around her and shushes her. "Alexis, hey, stop. Honey, stop… stop. Just look at me."

Alexis is still twisting against her, fighting to pull away and Kate shifts, wraps her hands tightly around her shoulders and pushes her fast at arms-length. It startles her. Alexis. She stops fighting and blinks, stunned, at Kate. Kate ducks down, gently swipes the wet tangled locks from Alexis's face and tells her gently, "It's him, Alexis. Your Dad. It's always been him."

Alexis hurtles back into her. Wrapped around her again and it's too tight, the anger still coursing quickly through her veins, muscles clenched and taut. She presses her head under Kate's chin and shatters. Her small body shudders, racked with gut-wrenching sobs as Kate takes the weight of her, crying softly into the girls hair.

"I hate you," Alexis finally whispers into the wet skin of Kate's neck and Kate nods.

"I know, Alexis, I know you do," She whispers just as gently, tightening her hold for a moment before she lets her go.

Alexis's deflated form rounds the corner and Kate slides down the wall, sobbing quietly as she hits the ground.

A few minutes later familiar arms loop over her shoulders and tug her into a warm, solid chest. "Katie, listen to me. You need to be strong now; his little girl needs you."

She doesn't look up, doesn't raise her chin from her chest when she speaks, "She hates me, Dad."

"No, Katie - "

"She does, Dad, she told me she hates me and I deserve it. God, Dad, what have I done? This is all my fault."

Her dad's arms tighten around her and he is about to speak when –

"Katherine Beckett, don't you dare say that, you hear me? I do not want to hear that nonsense again. You are _not_ the one who shot my son!"

Kate's head shoots up and she sees Martha silhouetted in the light, arms crossed over her chest.

"No," Kate drops her head again, "but I put him in the crosshairs. Castle, he… that bullet was meant for me, Martha, I'm so sorry," she cries.

"Now you just listen to me, right now! I will _not _have this family tearing themselves apart while _my_ _son_ is in there fighting for his life. Do you understand me?"

Martha towers over her for a moment, contemplating and then seemingly satisfied she reaches a hand out. Kate shakily takes it and rises with Martha, she wipes her face clean before they give each other a decisive nod and head back to their spine twisting chairs.

For thirty five minutes Alexis doesn't acknowledge Kate, she sits next to her stiffly, spine straight and shoulders squared against her. Thirty five minutes and then she sighs, her thin shoulders curl in and she silently drops her head onto Kate's arm. Beckett lays her head down on top of the girl's. "I know," she says and Alexis nods.


	3. Chapter 3

The quiet spaces between sirens begin to fatten up as the city does its best to rest. Kate watches. She counts every ambulance that screams and wails and then ambles away, she keeps track of all the minutes in between and finds she breathes more deeply in the silence. She gathers up all the details of activity as it trickles slowly outside and tucks them away. She fills her mind with uselessness.

Ryan's phone rings, the harsh sound drawing her back to him with a start. "Sorry, sorry," he mutters, bends down to scoop it up with clumsy fingers that falter and try again. She looks to him eagerly at the long pause after, "Ryan", but he's already shaking his head and dropping his eyes away in apology.

She sighs and turns away, catching a regrettable glimpse of their family, his and hers and the one they share. All of them wilting away. Martha is staring out the window unseeing and a sudden wave of gratitude sweeps through Kate when she catches her father's hand clasped around Martha's, keeping her here as best he can. He's dazed though, eyes clouded over and Kate swallows hard against the rising memories of loss.

Lanie has split away from them and gathered herself up a few seats away. She's lifted her crossed legs up onto her chair like a small girl and Kate's never seen her look so scared, never seen her so carefully independent as she narrows her own existence to the confines of that chair.

Ryan paces past her; he whispers harshly into his phone, something about _not good enough _and _he can't be gone_. Kate tries to make sense of it all but nothing sticks. Her eyes flit over to Esposito. He's standing – has been standing for hours now – against the wall opposite them and he looks, for the first time since she's known him, every bit the soldier. At attention, jaw set and both breathing and blinking suddenly measured and deliberate acts, nothing left to impulse or instinct. Javi has disappeared somewhere inside his special-forces shell, silent and unnervingly still. Kate swallows hard and prays to all the Gods she's been hassling tonight that he too, is able to come back to them.

Alexis shuffles around next to her, eyes left wide by the way Beckett jostled her when Ryan's phone rang and Kate looks down, shushes her gently. She hooks her fingers around the girl's ear and settles her back against her shoulder. She softens immediately and Kate is struck sharply again by just how _young_ she really is. She drops her head back against the wall and closes her eyes against it. Against all of it.

She starts again. Siren number one.

Eight minutes past siren number five and the jagged edges of Alexis's nails bite into Kate's thumb. The sharp sting pulls her back into the room and then she sees him. Blue scrubs and tired eyes, his face withered, wrinkled up with decades of _this,_ night after night of this. The acrid taste of anxiety rises fast to the base of Kate's throat and her body blisters with panic. It tunnels her focus, turns her knuckles white around his daughter's hand.

"Mrs Rodgers?" He calls. His voice rough with exhaustion and all these piled up hours.

His calm professionalism cracks momentarily as they each rise, hesitate, and step into him from every direction. Martha, first. Then Alexis and Kate. Jim. Lanie. Ryan and Esposito. He turns this way and that, eyes flicking briefly over each of them. He swallows nervously when his gaze lands on Esposito, fingers knotting up in his surgery cap. Their mismatched family takes him by surprise, but to his credit, it's momentary. He nods and turns back to Martha, "Your son is out of surgery."

"Is he okay? Will he be alright?" His mother rushes in, impatient and demanding, fearful mostly.

"Well, during the surgery he experienced cardiac arrest," he continues, voice thick and smooth - practised. The room gasps, swells and wavers over a collective breath, "We were able to get his heart beating again on its own, but… we'll need to watch him very closely."

Suddenly the ground is falling away, sinking with the weight of Kate's relief. Her vision smudges in black around the edges and her dad presses his palm to the base of her spine. "Katie," he whispers, quickly stepping in to press his body behind hers. He takes the crashing weight of her and huffs under the pressure. "Okay," he whispers into her ear, private and reassuring, "I've got you."

She doesn't hear.

Silent tears wash over Alexis's blotchy cheeks. "When can I see him?" She asks. Her eyes are already eager, brimming with the timid beginnings of something brighter and Kate chokes on the way the girl is so quick to hope. Too much like her father sometimes.

"As soon as the nurses get him settled, we'll bring you two back to him." The Doctor smiles, tired and loose at the corners but light behind the eyes. Honest and fulfilled by the smallest of the girls glimmerings.

He takes in the rest of them then and his shoulder slump at the pale, greyed skin, blossoming blue beneath bloodshot eyes, the uniforms and all the places they've turned crisp with blood. He sighs. "The rest of you should go home, get some rest," he says quietly like an apology.

She hears Esposito, paces behind her and it sets her on fire. He growls through clenched teeth, "I don't know about you, Bro, but home is the last place I'll be going. Not until we catch the son of a bitch who did this."

Half a heartbeat later and the same rough edge bleeds out from Ryan. "Right behind you."

It all coils up tight in her spine, anger and determination and heated resolve. It strengthens her bones with a vengeance and sets her teeth against each other with a hard crack. Orders already curdling up in her stomach, she's ready to bark at them, to demand things they can't give her.

She twists fast and stumbles back with the shock of finding her father so close, her brow furrowing confusion at the way his hands hover around her shoulders.

"Go, Katherine," Martha says and Kate startles. She flings herself around again; shoulder jerking roughly as she unwittingly tugs Alexis with her. The white hospital lights streak and spin before her wide eyes catch Martha's as she repeats "Go, darling."

Kate starts to shake her head, _I can't, _burns on her tongue but Alexis cuts in. "Go, Beckett, you need to go," she says and Kate suddenly understands. They're not asking her, they're telling her. This is what they need.

She swallows. Nods. "Right. Yeah, I'm going."

She looks down at the knot of her fingers, tangled up in his daughter's delicate hand. "Oh, sorry," Alexis whispers and moves to pull away but Kate jerks out and grabs tight again. She rests there for a moment, feels sorely guilty about drawing strength from his only child. She closes her eyes, squeezes the girl's hand once and once more, something like reassurance and a promise she doesn't have the words to speak.

She turns then and she goes. The three of them go.

* * *

_You are all so lovely, positive and supportive and I am grateful. Thank you. _

_I would love to hear what you think, if you have the time. _

_I will get more of this to you ASAP. Thanks for reading._


	4. Chapter 4

The city is clearer and busier than she thought it would be and the normalcy of it all hurts in a way she wasn't expecting. It all moves along with the filthiness of a brusque attitude, untouched, unaffected, unkind. It's crisp outside even as the beginning of summer leaks in under the spring night, the air getting heavier but still hiding a sharp nip that licks up behind your ears and over the tip of your nose. She knows the chill by the way the sidewalk people, still scattered about even at this time of night, tuck their chins, curl their thumbs in their cuffs and step a little more urgently.

Everything dances momentarily in flashing puddles of streetlight before sliding back into deserted shadows as they crawl through the streets and it stabs at her, the loudness and fleetingness of it all. How fast everything slips past her.

She had thought it would be better, the smells and sounds of the city and the people moving with intention on the street. She thought it would be better than the thick smell of blood, the sting of sterility, bright lights on white walls and fragile hope cradled in her palms.

It's not. It's harsh and hard in a completely different way and it catches her off guard.

She lifts her knees and tucks them under her chin. She crouches down inside herself and heavy silence falls around her, it censors out the still buzzing city, the rustle of Ryan's sleeve as he swipes at his phone and the sound of Esposito's thumb incessantly tapping at the steering wheel. It's a familiar, heavy silence, one she's slipped into before and she's grateful for it. It bands tight across her chest and holds tight around her wrists.

She didn't expect the pain to be worse on the outside. She didn't expect the city to be so punishing. The hurt is overwhelming.

She presses her forehead to the window and cries quietly as everything rushes by. She sobs for him. For her partner, her best friend, her…Castle.

* * *

The first time he surfaces some waking part of him screams silently with all-consuming pain. His entire body pulses and aches with it.

His nose crinkles, burning with a cruel smell and his skin tugs hard, pinching on his cheeks under… tape? Cold air suddenly blasts up his nose, nostrils blocked with some hard, poking thing. He snuffs restlessly against it. He struggles in vain to shake away from it but the back of his skull is swelling fast and dragging him down.

Sound filters in slow and muffled –piercing beeps, air being sucked out to a single point and whooshing back again, a deep, constant whirring and voices, hazy far-away voices, and then metal scraping over metal.

His tongue knocks into a smooth plastic tube and drops off the end of something soft against the inside his cheek. His throat is clogged. Fear grips him with angry fingers at the back of his eyes and he startles.

He blinks.

It's white and foggy. There's a flash of red and recognition. _Alexis_.

Something warm rushes under his skin and makes him too heavy. His eyes slip closed again and consciousness slithers out of reach.

* * *

"Beckett," Esposito hedges, "we're here."

She nods against the glass and pulls back. She unfolds herself, her tired eyes drag open and her apartment building momentarily wavers in front of her before clearing into focus. Her body turns rigid at the sight. _Her apartment_. Cold, bitter anger crawls stealthily along her veins. It curls her fingers. "Javier," she warns.

He hears it. He hears the warning in her voice but he doesn't understand. She glares at him, as he slowly turns to Ryan. His lips purse in one corner and he raises an eyebrow. Ryan's lips curl down, his brow furrows and she knows they're talking about her. Fury is already bubbling up hot behind her lungs when Ryan jabs a thumb over his shoulder and Esposito sighs.

He shuffles around to face her. When he speaks his voice is thick and kind and it surprises her. "Kate, your clothes," he says.

"Oh," she looks down at herself, bloodied and trembling, "right. Right."

She looks to her apartment and turns back to Esposito.

"We're both going home too. We'll all meet at the 12th," he says and she nods.

Her fingers wrap around the handle but she freezes. She catches the figure of a tall, wide, shadow of a man standing outside her elevator, sturdy and alert. Her heart rate gallops and she whips around, catches sight of man standing inside the door of the building opposite hers. It's not the usual doorman, she knows.

She grits her teeth, "Esposito, you've got to be kidding me." His eyes widen, his mouth opens and closes and she rushes on, fuelled by the hot rush of disbelief, "You've put a detail on me?" she asks incredulously.

"Call off your boys, Javi. Now!" she finally barks after only getting more flapping gums from him.

His hands fly up in a surrender and she registers the genuine shock on his face. "Beckett, they're not mine, I didn't put anyone on you."

The car immediately falls into body rippling silence. Panic crawls up her spine and itches beneath her skin as she lifts and turns, catches a quick glimpse of another occupied car two spaces away, she flips back around, watches the lone figure pacing through her lobby. "Shit," Esposito whispers when he catches her wide eyes and comes to the same dark conclusions.

Her heart canters off as the moment stretches thin between them and Esposito reaches slowly toward the ignition, jaw set tight and shoulder's set wide but Ryan takes a deep breath and shocks them both into stillness. He looks out the windscreen, he calls her by her first name and he doesn't wait for a response.

"Castle wasn't the target." He says with finality, like it explains everything; like it is the end of an argument that they never started. It is. "They're _my_ men, Beckett. Don't argue," he finishes and it is undeniably an order. Ryan isn't discussing this.

"I - oh. Okay." She says, too stumped by his sudden authority to do anything more. She opens the door but suddenly turns back to him, panic constricting her throat, "Ryan, what about - "

"The detail was already there when we left, Beckett. Martha and Alexis are covered too. We'll meet you at the 12th," he says, voice completely neutral and gaze fixed pointedly away from her, away from Esposito. It terrifies her, that neutral command she's never heard from her brightest boy before.

"Thanks, Kevin," is all she whispers.

* * *

The second time he comes up out of emptiness he's choking. There's a shadow hovering over him, a woman silhouetted against white light. Blue gloves.

"Try to relax, Mr Castle, you'll be more comfortable once we get rid of this," she soothes and he likes her voice, its kind and even. It chases away the panic. The woman with blue gloves tugs once more and a curved tube clears his throat, it scratches and he gags around it. Cold air floods down his newly open airway and he gasps, goes to reach for her but she's already pressing his head back gently with a warm palm.

"You need to sleep some more, Mr Castle," she says, smiling kindly.

He wants to ask her what's happening, what happened, but his eyes are slipping closed again and he's too heavy to fight. He surrenders willingly to the darkness.

* * *

_To those who have favourited and followed this story: thank you, I am so overwhelmed by the number of you kind souls. _

_To those who have reviewed: it has been so lovely to hear what you think, thank you. You are making this experience remarkably interesting and fun._

_As always I will keep this updated as often as possible. I know the pace is quite slow and I hope that's okay, I hope you stick with it, the next chapter will likely be a similar pace and then we might kick on a little faster. _

_Reviews really do make this a much greater experience, I keep them all in mind and I would love to hear what you think. _

_One more note: I'm Aussie and have only seen up to 6x09 so please no spoilers. _

_Thanks so much!_


	5. Chapter 5

Gossamer streams of light from his lonesome burning lamp drip over the edges of his desk and pool on the floor, shrouding his small space in a soft yellow glow. It surprises her, finding him like this, hunched over under a single bulb with his brow furrowed. It's not the first time but it's close to it, and in any case it's irrelevant, familiarity wouldn't make any of this easier.

The precinct air tastes stale on her tongue as she steps out of the elevator, wet hair holding on to the night's cold and turning her thin jumper dark in ugly splotches. She curls her thumbs into her stretched cuffs and shivers against it, the chill and the stillness and the sight of him. Ryan - her youngest and so much like her in ways more dangerous than she's ever been forced to recognise.

She scuttles along, unhealthily accustomed to navigating these hollows in the dark. Her movement stutters as she crosses by Montgomery's office, darkened and shuttered away, the sharp pang of loss and betrayal just another thing that rips straight through her, leaves her a little shakier than before. She pauses, breathes through the rising guilt and moves along, presses herself slowly into Ryan's light.

Concern laces tight across her jaw when she takes in the whole disaster of him. He's been here a while, she notices. He's changed, but that alone isn't enough to convince her he's been home and either way it's not what worries her. It's the strewn files, discarded and crumpled around the edges, the empty mug resting precariously on the edge of his desk. It's unlike him, the mess and carelessness of it all. It terrifies her and she wants to reach out, brush a palm across his shoulder and beg him to _please, be careful_, but he's turning to her, pressing a pile of files from his desk into her hands.

"Reports," he says, "interviews and statements from Karpowski's team. Everything else has been placed on priority and CSU are rushing it all through the system. I requested everything be sent over, absolutely every report. We'll get them as they become available. Video footage from every point in as wide an area as I was able to pull is on its way."

There's nothing of the eager boy she knows in his voice, nothing in his eyes. He presses the files into her hands and turns away. _Please_, she thinks, desperate now.

Esposito is loud. He's clumsy and his shoe catches, squeaks and scuffs along the floor as he makes his way to their haloed desks. He mutters and stumbles and grunts. Ryan glares; he pushes a pile towards him and huddles back under his light.

They stack up files and rotate. They turn circles in silence for a string of terrible hours. They check every detail, double-check and triple-check. They cover each other's blind spots and come up with nothing but an unkind reminder that they are used to working as four. They catch their tails and still nobody says anything. They start again. More hours stack up and string along and the silence eats away at them.

Ryan's chair screeches and spins in the air as he propels himself up, out, and stalks away. It's piercing in the stillness of a grey-washed precinct and it startles them, Becket and Esposito both jerk up with wide eyes and hitching breath. She looks at Esposito, eyes questioning and he sighs. His body collapses and he shakes his head. _I know, I don't know. _Beckett blinks slowly, jerks her head toward Ryan's path. _Go._

Esposito nods. Stands. Goes after him.

He heads for the break room, rounds the corner and crashes into him. "Jesus, Esposito, I just needed a bit of space," Ryan hisses, reaching out to right them both and flick the lights on.

Esposito bristles at the sight of his partner in the light. Eyes red and hair matted up by restless fingers. Wrists weighing him down. He takes in the NYPD t-shirt and Nike sweats. Training gear, he realises, from his locker. "Bro, d'you go home?"

Ryan's eyes drop away and his head rattles this way and that. "Wanted to get here before her," he says, angling his head toward Beckett.

They both turn then, peer through the half slits in the blinds and take her in. Wet hair knotting up in frizzy curls as it dries around her head. She looks drawn, cheekbones sharp and straining against her paled skin. She's small and soft without her make-up, so much more Kate than Beckett.

Her brow furrows and she dips closer to the table, she tucks the top of her pen into the corner of her mouth and nibbles at it as her eyes flick back and forth over a single line. She huffs, deflates and tosses the paper away when it comes up at the same dead end she ran into the first time around. She moves on to the next leaf without a breath in-between.

Esposito sighs, "Think she'll be okay?"

Ryan stiffens, he reaches inside himself and comes up empty, doesn't have enough energy left to lie. "Not really."

The brutality of it is startling, Esposito's eyes widen and he straightens up. It's momentary, though, the defence and debate of it all. His shoulders curl in again and he sighs, "Me neither, Bro. We gotta find this guy."

* * *

The next time he's cognizant again it's daylight; warm ribbons of sunlight slinking in through open blinds, creeping across the grey linoleum floor and stretching up to tickle his fingers. He rises slowly through the fog and familiar sounds flirt at the edges of awareness. Still, the quiet beeping and whooshing and whirring and then something soft that he can't quite place, a rustle, he thinks, and then a huff.

His fingertips flick out and curl away and he feels a cannula wiggle in his vein, tape pinching at the skin of his hand.

"Dad?" He hears and his head lolls toward the sweet, rattling sound.

He blinks, once, twice, three times. His lips stretch out and fall open. "Lexis," he rasps and she rushes forward. For half a second she's there, close, filling his vision, hovering, and then she is going. Moving too quickly. Streams of her locks lift and snap tight in his peripheries. His fingers desperately twitch up, go after her and fall flat on a sigh. She's gone.

He slumps miserably back into darkness.

"Dad?" He hears again, louder this time and more demanding, more like his daughter. His eyes drag open. He finds her there, hopeful and reaching out with timid fingers, brushing his hair away. "Hi, Baby," he croaks and a sobbing chuckle drops from her lips, eyes glistening as she beams at him. "Dad," she sighs.

His eyes slips closed again and he listens to the muffled clattering of hurried footsteps and swishing fabric somewhere far away. A heavy breath. Relief. "Oh Richard, my boy." He feels the gentle press of his mother's palm against his shin. He wants to open his eyes to her but everything is calm now, everything is loose and he's slipping.

Suddenly there's a flurry of activity, a curtain being drawn back fast and the warmth of his family's touch dragging away. He hears the smooth course of professionalism, crisp voices, call and response flowing over him and then quieter questions and Alexis, his mother, agreeing and getting further away. Cold fingers press against the hot skin at his ribs and he winces, eyes flying open despite the heavy pull of sleep.

"What happened?" he husks out, throat dry and chapped lips cracking over the words.

The nurse jerks; she turns away and comes back with a damp cloth. She dabs gently at his lips and offers him a straw. "Just a small sip," she tells him quietly. He's still looking at her intently and, "Mr Castle, I think it would be best if - " she continues, eyes dropping away.

"What happened?" he repeats and she swallows.

She nods. "I'll go see if I can get your doctor in here to explain."

By the time the surgeon bursts through the curtain he's half-way back to dreamlessness. He peels his eyes open and his doctor smiles. He tells him everything, shows him black and white scans and numbers he doesn't understand, he says something about _cardiac arrest _and then something else about _bullet fragments _and _internal bleeding. _It takes longer than he really has and by the time it's over Castle's too exhausted to comprehend much of it at all. His eyes sag and his voice falls away. "Kate?" is all he manages to whisper.

"Kate's fine, Dad, she's fine," his daughter murmurs somewhere off to his left and he drops away again.

* * *

_Okay, so this chapter truly hated me, but we wrestled and this is what was left of both of us. Hopefully the next one cooperates with a little less force._

_____Thank you so much, beautiful people, for the support and the kindness and the warm welcome into this lovely community. You are amazing and I love hearing from you._

_As usual, I will do my best to update soon._


	6. Chapter 6

They exist restlessly on extended blinks of sleep, collapsed over the hard edge of their desks or folded up in turn on the break-room couch. They fill up stolen whiteboards and wall themselves in. Her mother's, drawn up by crisp memory and another, filled up with all the things that burst and ran dry; Raglan, McAllister, Coonan, Lockwood. She re-writes third cop above a question mark that sits heavy in all the spaces that scream with their fallen Captain. Nobody mentions it; his name or the spaces he left behind, and Esposito wheels in a third board that shutters the rest of the bullpen away. _Richard Castle_. They move despondently around the mostly emptiness beneath his name as the blurred edges of each day bleed slowly into the next.

She doesn't know what day it is when Josh stumbles into their desperate space and whispers her name. He says she wasn't home, she hasn't answered her phone and she sighs, too weary to fight, but he shakes his head, tells her he _just thought…_ and holds out a duffel bag, clothes and all the small things she didn't know, he knew, she needs. Grateful, tired tears rush up behind her eyes and he tugs her up into him. He wraps her tight and her aching body goes slack against him, seeks comfort that feels dirty like guilt as he presses an apology she can't remember if she deserves into her hair. She shakes her head. _No, no _she says and whispers her own choking apology into his shirt but he softens her, tells her _it's okay, Kate, it's okay_ and she's too heavy, too exhausted and shattered to shake her head and tell him it's not. It's not! Nothing's okay.

Lanie and Jenny come and go, with food and love and worried, tired eyes. They run their hands over their boys and sigh. Lanie crouches down and spins Kate's chair to face her. "I can't, Lanie," is all Kate says and Lanie nods, she brushes the hair away from Kate's face and presses a kiss to her temple before she goes.

The three of them teeter there, dangerously close to the edge of delirium and none of them really know how many times the sky turns itself over outside their white-board walls before the first new road opens up.

She presses her thumb and forefinger to the bridge of her nose, clenches her eyes against all the things that circle and circle and never meet. His absence weighs her down as she pushes all her energy into convincing herself that his inane yapping is not the thing she is desperately aching for. Her eyes burn with the realisation that she doesn't really remember how to do this without him, how to crack open her blindfold without his insanity.

She huffs and considers it then, all the outlandish nonsense that would irritate her and make him beam. CIA operations and aliens, time travellers, mob wars, sinister butlers, Sasquatch, invisible ghosts. _Invisible_.

"Ryan, what if he wasn't gone, what if we just didn't see him!" She blurts too loudly.

Ryan jerks and spins in his chair, sleepy befuddlement spilling out of him and making his jaw hang open, "Huh?"

"The place was swarming with cops; the sniper can't have just gone. So what if he didn't? Go, I mean. What if he was there and we just didn't _see _him?" She explains, tries to explain, voice filling out with the first fluttering of new hope.

"You think it was a cop? Someone from the funeral?" He asks, eyes narrowing with the stinging possibility of yet another betrayal from the inside.

"Oh, I didn't think… I thought…"

"The grounds-keeper," Esposito supplies, growling as he turns to face them but Ryan shakes his head.

"No, he was interviewed. Yeah, I – here," he says, frantically scrabbling through papers and passing a single sheet to Beckett, "Karpowski interviewed him, didn't get much. She said he was shaken but cooperative."

Esposito pushes up and crowds over her shoulder, skims the short interview report. "Yeah," he grouses, "but all the cops, their DNA would be in the system and nothing matched what was on the weapon. Besides, somebody would have noticed a uniform on a face nobody's seen before, right? The guy couldn't have been posing as a cop without somebody noticing, not that day."

"Right, but the grounds-keeper…" Ryan's voice fades away as realisation and desperate, delusional hope settles heavily over them.

"Let's go!" Beckett growls but they're already up and going. Tugging on coats and staunching through a bullpen that stutters with the sudden movement of them.

The three of them burst out into falling daylight, creaking and finally moving with purpose.

* * *

She thought somehow that all this would be familiar, the smell of green and the harsh crunch and bounce of tyres over gravel, the gates and the calm stillness of this place. She'd thought she would know the elements of it as it all licked back to her senses but memory is a strange thing, insane in the way it lifts up and dusts of fragments of time, chubby pattering feet on floor boards and her mother's soft curls coming in and out of focus, _Katie, don't run_, and quite sane in the way it leaves behind long tracks of irretrievable nothingness. It feels completely foreign, the cemetery, clouding in under a falling sun.

There's nothing of him here. Castle. A broken piece of police tape wisps up and snaps taut in the wind, there are patches of unsettled grass, flattened or kicked up but everyone is gone, the markers and lights and crush of an active crime scene has all faded away and he's not here. The place is foreign and everything filters in slowly, brand new.

He's short, round and balding, with sweet eyes and rosy cheeks. The grounds-keeper. He smells of cigarettes and coffee when he speaks in a voice roughened by years, "I'm sorry, Detectives, I've never heard of him. I called in sick that day - food poisoning, the doctor said - but he's not… I don't know that name, Detectives. He definitely doesn't work here."

She expects it, but still, it rips through her and leaves her breathless. Every hour they spent running on hamster-wheels, chasing after some elusive dragon and this_, this_ is where they fell. Deception and the cheapest kind at that. It's a careless and gut-wrenching thing. It twists tight in her stomach and leaches the blood from her face.

She vaguely registers the rest of the murmured exchange and the way Ryan and Esposito step in front of her, literally take her out of the equation and move along with the stiffness of protection. It all filters in and out but it's hazy and she knows, as the door clicks into place behind her, that it is just another thing that memory will kindly turn to black.

* * *

The bullpen has already slowed to a quiet shuffle, the dullness of late evening creeping in behind them and sending people home.

"Karpowski, now!" Esposito hollers as they step out of the elevator and the air falls still, a cold chill racing through the room as Karpowski shoots up from her chair.

She matches pace with them, follows along on the other side of the grilled wall and steps into the secluded, holed up area around their desks. She turns this way and that, takes in Ryan, shrunken away in too big clothes with bloodshot eyes and pursed lips and then Beckett, cold eyes staring back at her, pale and hollow. She tears her gaze away and looks back at Esposito, shoulders squared away and nostrils flaring as he huffs out a rough breath.

"We need you to do a sketch of the grounds-keeper. Every member of your team, everyone who might have seen him that day, needs to do a sketch. We need everything we can get on this guy. Now!" He barks at her and she jolts.

Karpowski's eyes widen in sudden, awful comprehension. "Detective Beckett, I - " she starts, turning to Kate with her eyes bowed in remorse, but Kate shakes her head, teeth grinding and fists clenched.

"Don't!" She growls and stalks away.

* * *

Kate's hand trembles, ceramic rattling against metal as steam hisses and rushes up fast around her. She waves a frustrated hand through the fog and scowls at the complexity of his simple things.

"Detective Beckett?"

The intrusion startles her; she jumps, slams the mug down on the counter and smacks the machine into silence.

"What?" She snaps as she turns and falters, words tangling up and falling in a heap. "Alexis! Oh, sorry, I'm sorry. What are you doing here? Your dad! What's wrong?"

* * *

_Over 100 Followers - this is insanity!_

_I apologise for the wait on this chapter. I am half-way through my second last semester of Law School and it is absolutely killer so this entire story is being written in partly crazy insomniac hours. I will do my best, I absolutely promise, to keep it going ASAP. _

_As always, I love hearing your thoughts, I always keep them in mind and try to grow with them. Thank you so much!_


	7. Chapter 7

Alexis's stunned eyes fall slowly closed on a deep breath, amber eyelashes catching the fluorescent light beaming down on her and sparking against the pale purple shadows marring her delicate skin. Her face ducks away behind the limp curtain of her hair, thin fingers tangling up in each other and twisting around and around.

The restless nervousness of his usually flouncing, eager daughter makes Kate's stomach clench, angry tentacles of fear wrapping tight around her.

"Alexis, please, what's wrong?"

The anxiety rattling her voice hits Alexis and her eyes snap back to Kate. "Sorry, no, nothing. Dad's good. Sleeping," she says quickly, voice rising with the panic of still burning possibilities.

Kate reaches out quickly to prop herself up on the counter, relief rushing in fast and dizzying, overwhelming.

"I just…" Alexis starts again but trails off and Kate crunches in at the way her quiet voice tappers away into nothing. The hanging silence catches in all the aching places she misses him because it's painful, how much of this girl is him. The way she chatters and smiles and bubbles around. The way she goes quiet about the real things; silent in her pain and shamed in her small wanting.

"You just -" Kate prods gently and Alexis slumps under the softness of it.

"Grams went to see Paula, to keep ahead of all this, because the press can be, well, stupid and cruel and Dad wouldn't want... anyway she's there now."

"Um, okay," Kate breathes out slowly, buying time to place the information somewhere as her exhausted thoughts curl in around the edges, bump into each other bounce away, never connecting, "and you want me to go with her?" she finally ventures.

Alexis's face screws up. "What?"

"I'm a cop. I could do… something." Kate winces as the thick stupidity of it lingers over her tongue and she clamps her mouth shut.

"Oh," Alexis's mouth quirks up in fleeting amusement but she shakes her head, "no. it's just that it's the first night that Grams isn't going to be with me and, I know it's stupid, but I just can't really stand the thought of being in the loft without them. Both of them," she finishes on a whisper and dips her head again as a soft pink blush rushes up over her cheeks.

She looks so beautiful, catching all the light in her auburn hair and glittering amongst creeping shadows. She looks brave and fragile and more like a child than Kate has ever seen.

Beckett's fingernails dig sharply into her palms at the way his daughter curls into herself, timid and courageous in the way she barely hopes. It claws painfully at Beckett's ribcage as she gulps down the bitter taste of disgrace over a years old promise she made to stave off his paranoia.

_If something were to happen to me I want you to watch out for Alexis._

His voice echoes in her stuttering mind as she watches his daughter, standing here and asking without asking, because her short life has already taught her more than she needs to know about shattered expectations and the pain of misplaced trust.

She is fierce and brilliant and unravelling. She's not entirely sure of this, Kate can see.

"No," Beckett chokes, "not stupid. Definitely not stupid," and Alexis looks up, drawn up out of awful silence by the crack in Kate's voice. She stares wide-eyed at the trembling detective.

Kate clears her throat, "I'm glad you came, yeah, that's good," she tries again, gritting her teeth at her sudden inarticulacy as Alexis's shy eyes fall back to tracing the movement of her foot as it scuffs back and forth.

Her mouth goes dry on crumbled words, anxiety setting her skin on fire as she takes in his child and is faced with the sudden, frightful awareness of her own inadequacy.

_She looks up to you_.

She remembers his voice, genuine and filled with trust, even then. She pauses, breathes, and pushes on.

"So, you'll come home with me?"

She means for it to be a statement, but it drops out hesitantly like a question because she's not sure of this either, and her incompetency is strangling.

Alexis looks up and smiles weakly, the cautious relief in her eyes just another heartbreaking reminder that he really is all she has and Kate is - his partner. "I, yeah, if that's okay?"

"Great!" Beckett blurts and it's too loud, too eager. She huffs out an embarrassed laugh at herself and says, "Come on," more softly, as she knocks her fingers into the girl's shoulder and pushes her back out into the bullpen, swallowing hard as the very real threat of failure settles heavy on her shoulders.

* * *

"You guys heading home?" Ryan asks as Beckett grabs her jacket.

Esposito spins to face them and smiles brightly, shooting a tiny curl of his fingers at Alexis. "Hey, Little Castle, you taking Beckett home for us?" He jokes.

Beckett tenses and shoots him a look he doesn't understand but Alexis smiles back. "Somebody has to do it," she says as she shrugs and Beckett huffs out a relieved chuckle, baffled again by the way the Castles can so swiftly change gears. She wraps her fingers around the back of Alexis's neck and steers her away from the boys.

Her gaze catches for a moment over the window and she remembers all the pleading looks from Jenny and sighed acceptance from Lanie. The final embers of daylight have already burnt out, deserting the precinct in shadows and she turns back to Ryan, "Yeah, we're going home, and I want you two to head home now too."

Ryan twists in his chair, turns to look at Esposito as the smile drops off his face. Ryan frowns and shakes his head but Esposito is resolutely not taking this one, he scowls back at Ryan and jerks his head toward Beckett before looking away. Ryan sighs. "Boss, we think - "

Beckett glowers at them, glare lingering on Esposito a little longer for his cowardice. "That was not a question," she snaps and they both jolt, frantically gathering their things and rising with a synchronised, "Yes, Boss."

As the elevator doors close Alexis turns to Kate, "Detective Beckett, I'm really s-"

"Don't," Beckett stops her gently, "don't you dare apologise. You did the right thing."

* * *

Alexis stills at the stuffy smell rushing out of Beckett's apartment as the door swings open, the air musty, thick and still. Her eyes widen in comprehension and Beckett sighs at the all too familiar wisdom burning across the younger girl's face. She presses her free palm into her back and ushers her inside.

"You want to sit on the lounge? Take the pizza and I'll just grab some plates," she says, handing Alexis the box and shuffling through her apartment to open a window, burningly ashamed of the taste of her home.

Alexis takes in the place, bursting into a soft yellow glow as Kate moves along, tapping on lights and bringing her life home. It's a beautifully deep space, rich and warm and overtly private.

She settles on the couch and flinches at her own intrusion.

"You know, Detective Beckett, it was pretty cool to see you like that," she calls out to Kate, trying desperately for normalcy in the abnormal.

"Firstly, Alexis, please call me Kate, or just, something other than Detective Beckett," she says as she drops down gracelessly with her exhaustion, hands the girl a plate and grabs a slice, "and secondly, see me like what?"

"Oh, um," Alexis freezes mid-way through reaching for her own slice and twists back to look at Kate, "Can I call you Beckett?" she asks timidly.

Kate huffs out a laugh. "Yeah, Beckett's fine. That's what your dad calls me," she says with a soft smile.

"Yeah, I know." The girl's eyes mist over as she turns back to grab her slice of pizza and Kate winces, silently berating herself for such profound stupidity.

"So," She quickly moves Alexis along, "It was cool to see me like what?"

Alexis tips her head in question before her gaze clears and she nods. "At the precinct," she finally says after swallowing.

"You always see me at the precinct."

"Yeah, yeah I know, but I've never seen you like _that_ with Detectives Ryan and Esposito," Alexis explains, "Like their boss. It was pretty cool to see the way they listen to you like that."

"Oh," Kate chuckles, surprised by the glimmer in the younger girl's eye, "yeah, I don't usually have to… do that."

Alexis contemplates that for a moment and then nods. She twists her body, lifts her legs up under herself and Beckett smiles softly at the way the girl's body softens as she makes herself comfortable. Something nervous loosens up in Kate's chest at the sight.

"Does my dad ever listen to you like that?" Alexis asks once she's settled and Kate can't help the startled laughter that escapes.

"What do you think?" Kate dead-pans and Alexis finally catches the silliness of it, she laughs and shakes her head.

"Never."

* * *

"Dad's okay," Alexis whispers after a long silence, and Beckett tenses. She swallows thickly and nods.

"Yeah, of course he is, Alexis. Your Dad is so strong, he'll be alright," she says, proud of how sure her voice comes.

Alexis sighs and reaches out to place her palm on Kate's shoulder, "I know, Beckett, I was _telling_ you," she says and Kate turns wide eyes to her.

Beckett watches the concern crawl over Alexis and sighs, defeated, doing this all wrong. "Alexis, please, you don't need to worry about me."

Alexis pulls her hand away and nods unconvincingly, her mouth still pursed on one end.

She yawns suddenly, wide and loud, neck cracking as she stretches. She comes back to Beckett with shocked, shiny, sleep filled eyes and Beckett smiles gently at her.

"Take my bed, Alexis, I'll take the lounge," she says, carrying on quickly when she sees the protests bubbling up in the young girl, "I have some files I want to run over one more time anyway."

"Detective Beckett - " Alexis hedges, treading carefully and sounding just like her father.

"I'm fine," Beckett says and Alexis sighs. She nods and moves to grab the plates from the coffee table. "Alexis," Kate warns and the girl sighs again, dramatically this time, just like her grandmother.

She stands sheepishly. "Thanks, Beckett, for all of this," she offers timidly.

Kate shakes her head, stands up and turns the girl by her shoulders, gives her a nudge toward the bedroom. "Always," she whispers, "now go to bed, make yourself at home, use whatever you want."

Alexis nods and shuffles along but turns back just shy of the door, tired face shadowed and dipping in city light. Her voice comes quiet and private, sincere. "Hey, Beckett, I was thinking, maybe you could take me back to the hospital in the morning and come up to see dad?"

Kate's lips fall open on a soundless gasp, heart pounding furiously as she nods lamely and sinks back down onto the couch.

* * *

_Okay, all I am going to say is that I deeply appreciate your kind support and I hope that you are all still enjoying this story. I loved the Alexis/Kate dynamic in the early days and I just had to add this chapter in... hope you guys don't mind. _

_Always, always, love to hear your thoughts, so if you have the time, leave them behind!_


	8. Chapter 8

Her delicate fingers rake through his hair, brushing the matted locks flopping over his forehead away so reverently that it pulls his heavy eyes open. She smiles softly at the flicker of blue and he mirrors her, lips curling up and splitting open as the backs of her fingers drag over his stubbled cheek and drop off his chin.

"Morning, Pumpkin," he croaks and Alexis grins like she used to as a baby, left side of her mouth tipping up as her head lolls the other way.

He reaches out to bundle up her fingers in his palm, smile broadening when his focus clears and he sees that she looks lighter today, like she unloaded something heavy from the bags beneath her eyes and came back to him a little younger than yesterday.

She smiles back and squeezes her thumb over his fingers. "You have a visitor, Dad," she whispers.

Her head tips forward on her palm, forehead nudging the air in direction and his head flops over on the pillow.

His eyes widen, the smile drops from his face and he swallows thickly against the improbable sight of her. Kate. The unmistakable line of her body curved into the chair on the other side of his stiff, tilted hospital bed. The long tubed, white lights running over the head of his bed catch in her hair and send it tumbling into the nooks of her collar bones, pooling there, liquid gold against her thin skin.

She looks fragile, like she's been going for days on end and the toll of every mounting hour is starting to bloom on her skin. She looks tired and her curls are a little looser than usual, heavier maybe, like the rest of her. She looks so beautiful.

Her lips lift up and fall away in a hesitant smile and he physical aches with the magnificence of it. Kate.

Her fingers stretch out, shaky digits reaching for him instinctively but she catches them and curls them away in a shy wave.

"Hey, Castle," she says, her gentle smile blossoming now and warming her voice.

He physically burns with the sudden nearness of her. It's overwhelming; the way his body pulls tight against its wounded edges and threatens to bleed. The weight of it drags him down into his pillow and instantaneously, he's exhausted.

"Beckett," he manages after a stretched out breath and another, "Hi."

She gets trapped there, bracketed in the moment between the short bursts of his rough voice. It's a foreign sound, gruff and hurting and completely unlikely.

They're both caught there, suddenly weary, teetering between ecstasy and despair at the first sight of_ them_ after _that _and she wonders how to be now. She wonders who they are now, separately and together, and how to be. She wonders if any of it even makes a difference.

Alexis's chair screeches and pulls them both up and out and back into his small hospital room with the beeping and whooshing and whirring and the breathing of them.

"I'm going to go get a milkshake; you want some coffee or something, Beckett?" She asks as she stands. She's completely oblivious to the magnitude of her disturbance but Beckett's grateful, for the exit, and she feels shamefully gutless at that thought.

She shakes her head and watches the girl go.

"You guys are on first name basis now? Conspiring against me while I'm down?" Castle asks. There's something a little more familiar in his voice, but still, it's not his own and she has to turn and see him to know what the question really is.

She twists back and there's nothing there but a grin, teasing and light and curious - about the name and the story, because it's important, to him, and he knows it's there.

The sight of him dissolves her. He's yellowed against the too white sheets, his eyes sunken, and his skin bruised dark around them. His large frame is shrinking away the narrow hospital bed and his unwashed hair is flopping back over his forehead, jaw rough with days old growth. He is all ragged edges and pained, tired looking skin but he's grinning like the man she knows, eyebrow rising up to tease what he wants out of her and she's never seen anything so beautiful.

She grins back. "Well, not exactly first name," she shrugs, easily reflecting his tone and happy to be a little bit of whom they were, "but yes. Alexis…" She pauses there, debating; the little that Alexis asked of her last night feeling like some private thing now that she's here, "Is a really great kid, Castle."

His face lifts and lights up with pride.

"Don't know where she got it from," Kate adds dryly and his smile falls away.

He huffs and studiously works on a scowl but he's tired and he knows he won't even get close. "Beckett, how cruel, I am already wounded," he whines and pouts instead.

He watches her, shimmering even under the cruelty of hospital lights and rolling her eyes like they're not here, tucked into the poky space that's keeping him alive. Her face says _Get over it, Castle_ and he beams; feels like he's breaking open beside her.

"She's been entertaining me all day, every day," he says with quiet awe and Beckett smiles softly. "She's even been breaking the rules, Beckett, she's been sneaking in with prohibited items," he stage whispers.

Kate chuckles and he smiles, chest burning with the sound. She shifts in the chair, drawing her legs up and crossing them under her as she settles in. All her long limbs folded up, elbow pressing into the armrest and cheek resting in the cup of her palm. Her body tilts, unknowingly, toward his.

"What did she bring you?"

He smirks and draws out the moment. His eyes dart around the room before he sluggishly curls a finger in the air and beckons her closer.

She rolls her eyes again but obliges, leaning into him. "A burger with fries and a cannoli for dessert," he finally whispers and she jerks back in her chair.

"Castle!" she scolds. She glares at him but it doesn't stick. "How?" She finally asks.

He shifts toward her in the bed, the sickly smell of manufactured sterility mingling with pained recovery lifting up and flooding over her. She tips back but he winces and she's reaching for him, tugging the blankets out to give him more freedom and settling them back over his shoulder.

His gaze settles on her fingers and she jerks them away, tucks them quickly back under her chin like she's been burned.

He brings his eyes back to hers and they linger in some heavy moment.

He clears his throat and looks away.

"It was an intricate and complex operation," he begins, though his voice is tight, and she's both relieved and pained by the way he lets it go so quickly, "it was days in the making."

He drops into the story and she falls effortlessly into his gravity. He tugs her along at a gruelling pace, laying down a detailed road map of the hospital and the staff routines.

He's merciless in his description of Natalie, the head nurse, who was apparently the biggest hurdle and also, as a side note, not the biggest fan. She calls her daughter, at 6:15pm every day, he says, without a doubt.

He looks at her with wide eyes as though that action alone is just offensive and he's waiting for her to agree. Kate schools her features, she nods like she understands because he seems so set about it and she really just wants the rest of the story.

He's tired. She can see the way even this is draining him but his lips are curling up. He's wistful as he settles easily back into himself and she's too grateful for it to stop him.

He carries on, tells her that they don't talk for long, Natalie and her daughter, so Alexis had to move fast. She made it though. Up to his floor and past the nurse's station, despite the foot traffic on the stairs and some uncoordinated teenage boy attempting to control his own wheelchair for the first time.

"That's when she ran into, Darrel," he grouses, clenching his eyes against the nurse's name and Kate barely manages to stifle her laugh.

"Who's Darrel?" she asks and he opens his eyes to scowl at her.

"Who's Darrel?" he echoes, voice dripping with incredulity, as though she should know, as though Darrel is _so_ bad that everybody knows of him.

He's even less forgiving in his portrait of Darrel, who she realises too late was really only a tangent anyway. He finally knocks on with the epic story of his rule breaking daughter and she's enthralled by every detail and the way his voice fills out as it all builds.

She watches him battle against the urge to lift his hands and bring them into the story, she pauses and breathes with him when he needs it and falls right back in step when he hurtles on.

She squints and laughs and shakes her head at all the right times. She tips forward and pushes away and hides an inappropriate smile behind her fingertips.

"So she's about ten paces from my door, I can practically taste the burger and…"

He stops there at that final pivotal moment and watches in awe as she sighs in frustration.

There is a fierce intimacy to the way she quirks her eyebrow and urges him on, to the way she tunnels in and offers him the whole of her coveted attention.

His mind goes blank with it.

She reaches out and tugs the slipped blanket back up over his shoulder, fingers resting against his neck. "And?" She prods but the cold pinpricks of her fingertips pressing into his heated skin pull them out of one moment and into the next.

The story crumbles away and they drop heavily into stillness of each other.

Her hazel eyes swirl away jade green and he wants to reach up and press his fingers between hers. He's sorry for that immediately, or sorry that he's not sorry, at least. Either way he's exhausted by it all.

"Staring is creepy, Beckett, I thought you knew," he finally tries to joke but it comes out strained and hurting.

It startles her and her fingers rush back to her chair and he's sorry for that too. A smile flitters across her features for a fleeting moment before dropping away. "I just never thought I would see you again," she murmurs quietly.

She looks softer than he's ever been allowed to see, raw and honest, and he feels guilty, like he shouldn't be looking. He swallows thickly and turns away, fixes his gaze out the window in apology and watches the sun slowly climbing the spindly trees.

She grinds her teeth against it, the choice of words or the thought itself, mainly the selfishness with which she put it on him. She sighs and takes in his space, more remorse filling her throat.

"I didn't even think. Sorry. I should have," she starts awkwardly and he brings his gaze back to find her motioning to the mounting bouquets around his small room.

"I think I already have enough to start my florist, Beckett," he says, tone teasing and letting her of the hook, trying hard to bring them back to equilibrium because he knows she's relying on him for that. Even now. Even though she hates herself for it.

He's glad when she flashes him a taut smile and he keeps going, "They were all here when they moved me in, mostly from the precinct, surprisingly."

Her body twists as she nods and gathers up the details of each bouquet, resting on the small draws next to her chair, tucked onto the shelf beneath his monitors and set along the windowsill.

His words finally settle in her mind and it registers. _Surprisingly_, like he doesn't really know his worth, not just to her but to them, their family and the 12th.

"You're part of the team, Castle. Everyone's waiting for you to get back."

His eyes go wide and she hurts with it even as he tries to cover it up, the shock and gratitude. He turns a wicked smile on her and teases, because they don't do this, or they didn't. "You saying you missed me, Beckett?"

She squints over at the drip stand, without a skipped beat. "Wow, they must have you on the really good drugs, Castle, if that's what you heard," she mutters but she's smiling.

It startles him and makes him laugh. Shallow chuckles all he can manage, but he's grateful nonetheless, for the humour and her and the strange way she's angling for normalcy.

They settle into silence as his body goes weak from the exertion of it. The shallow chuckles and the weight of being close to her. The atmosphere shifts around them and he's too tired to lift it up.

"I heard that I crushed you and ruined your uniform. Sorry about that," he says after a long moment.

"Yeah, you, uh…" she starts, shaking her head at the way he's apologising for saving her life, again. "Wait you heard? You don't remember?" The smile drops from her face as his words fall heavy between them.

She goes limp with the possibility that he…

Something flashes over her face that reads to Castle like misguided guilt, like some owing and he hates it. He doesn't want her here out of some mistaken obligation. He doesn't want her here because he took her bullet and died with her name on his lips. She doesn't _owe_ him anything and if she...

The pity is more than he can carry.

"No I… I don't remember much of anything," He lies, "I remember, uh… a flash or something, I remember trying to get to you, you were on the podium and then I just remember everything going black."

His eyes never come back to hers and his voice is too quiet and all of that hurts in an entirely new way.

"You don't remember - " she tries, but the words are dead, buried beneath her gravestone teeth. They turned to ghosts the moment he slipped away, floating up and haunting her every time she closes her eyes.

_Kate, I love you. I love you, Kate._

"Look, Kate, I'm really tired right now," he croaks.

She opens her eyes to him, hard diamonds glittering in the white light. "Oh, of course. Yeah. We'll talk tomorrow." She nods, pulling together her fading edges and gathering the strength to go.

"Do you mind if we don't? I just need a little bit of time."

His words filter through to her just before she reaches the door and she turns. It startles her for more than one reason. That he's asking for anything at all and that it's time. She gets that though, because he's healing, she reminds herself, and they say that is what time is for, that the elasticity of it heals quickly.

She wants to be generous with it – the time – but she's selfish when it comes to him and she has to ask. "Sure. How much time?" She finally speaks, praying the tremor in her voice is inaudible.

"I'll call you, okay?"

"Sure." She gives him a soft smile, even though he's still not looking. "Sure," she says and she goes.

* * *

_I'm sorry for the lengthening spaces between updates. This chapter was a long one and I hope that covers some of the time that went silent. _

_As always, your comments have been lovely and helpful and I would love to know what you think._


	9. Chapter 9

He thought it would be better; to have more amid the four walls, the ceiling, the floor, than to cry out for her and hear the hollow, clanging sound of his cracked voice echoed back to him in terrible waves.

He'd ached for the margins of his own space, chiselled out and filled up with pieces of him but the ache didn't go, it's only different here and somehow that's worse. Everything is familiar and alien at once. He's home and not home and it's worse.

Some days the familiarity is malicious, cruel in the ways it reminds him of his brokenness. The stairs rising up into an impenetrable boundary between him and them. Things set too high, too low. A bath lip he can not yet lift himself over.

Alexis helps, she lifts up on tip toes, she brings things down to him and lays everything out. She's kind and patient and that hurts too. He's sorry. Most of the time, he's just sorry.

Sometimes it's better, mainly in the light, mainly with Alexis, but mostly it's worse. Night comes fast and too often. Her name still rings out. He barely sleeps.

He doesn't know if the fear of insomnia or the fear of what woke him is stronger. He's even less certain that it matters, but he gets trapped in the thought. Trapped in the fear and the thought of the fear.

It's been weeks, mountains of days falling into days and it's her. Still her. In some form or another. Some worse than others. In every second that he closes his eyes, it's her and he's instantly unlearning how to unlove.

He keeps his eyes open and tries to move, but nights are more painful than days. His spatial memory is sharp, instinctive, but it belongs to another man. An unbroken man who's unused to the lag of this shattered body that burns and burns and moves too slowly. It sends him turning too early in the dark. He catches his toe on sharp corners, his shoulder or elbow or his sharpened hip bone. He snags and bristles and the pain is demanding.

Most nights he's here. Eyes open. Cradling a mug of whiskey, because pulling down a tumbler is just another small thing that needs a bigger man. Curled awkwardly in his desk chair and grieving for all the things he's not, for some fictitious future that optimism wrote in Braille. Pessimism floods through him now, addictive and toxic like clarity and at least that's better. The melancholy is softer than the brutality of hope.

* * *

It's been weeks and she's verging on manic. They worry but they don't ask. She's hyper-vigilant and strictly insistent on protocols she's never herself adhered to before. She's always first through the door and pushing them back. She snaps and scolds and tucks them in close.

She's overprotective. It's both misguided and dangerous. She's dangerous.

She barks orders and hovers for days before Esposito cracks. He turns and grabs her by the shoulders in a bleak corridor of some seedy hotel that she wouldn't let them go through alone. He shakes hard. "Stop, Beckett. It wasn't your fault!"

The life goes out of her beneath his hands. She goes soft and her eyes drop away. "He shouldn't have been there. I shouldn't have let him be there, Javi." It's not much more than a breath.

He breathes in return. He drops his hands and she straightens up, because there's nothing else to do. He was hers. Not just her partner but, hers, and she let him be. There's nothing to say.

They take turns - Ryan and Esposito. They roster their mornings and leave a coffee on her desk. They never talk about it, because it's only temporary. They tell themselves that.

It's a sweet gesture. A _we love you too _and _he'll be back, Beckett, don't worry_. She doesn't tell them he won't. She can't, she just nods and puts everything she can muster into her "Thank you."

They all ask. Homicide and every other floor, all the people she doesn't know but he does. "How's Castle?"

"Fine," she says, "Good, he's doing well. Thanks." She tries to smile. Because what is there to say? Only that she doesn't know. He hasn't called. They both wish it had been her.

She hears his name everywhere. Tumbling out from little knots of people in the hallways, from Ryan and Esposito, though the words halt when she's near. She knows through murmurs not meant for her that he's home. He's already home.

She hardly sleeps because he is dreams, but the sounds, the words, have disappeared and the ache to hear him is too much to stomach.

Most nights she's here. Shutters open wide and chasing down dragons she can't yet see, chasing away the verdict that came with _he's home_. The verdict that it's over, truly over. He's done with her.

Most nights she's just here, staring at words that don't read because she doesn't know how to _be_ now. Separately.

* * *

More and more days collapse and the nights seem longer. Longer and longer all the time. The days seem longer too, because fear never goes any-more, it stays, lurking around the corner.

It's no longer recognisable - the fear. Whether it's the insomnia or what woke him, it's all the same and he's just afraid. All the time now, he's afraid.

Tonight is bad. Terrible. The absolute worst. He slept too long and she died, over and over again in an infinite loop of madness. Scene after scene of horror. Things that make sense and things that don't. Thing's he cannot fathom.

The bed was left behind hours ago; crumpled, sweaty sheets tossed aside and left victim to his terror.

He's knotted up in his chair, alcohol and adrenaline swirling into a volatile numbing agent but the pain is real. Everything still hurts and he's terrified. He's burning.

He's halfway drowned in whiskey and his body is heavy. Too heavy. His eyes slip closed and it's an awful mistake.

Everything is out of sequence. Fleeting images that make no sense before they settle. Then he's there, marching in some line and pivoting on his mark. He feels the sharp edges of a placard he's holding out in front of him. He sees the bleary shapes of the others, lined up on his right and left, holding up placards of their own. They look like him, fatter, thinner, taller or shorter versions of him.

She's on the other side of the mirrored glass.

He sees her see him, though that makes no sense. Then he_ is_ her. It's through her eyes and he's seeing himself. The lights come on and he recognises the scene. A line up. He sees the numbered men, all variations of him. 1, 2, 3 and then there's him. There's no number 4 on his board, only two words.

_I'm sorry_.

She raises a gun, or he does, as her. He raises a gun and aims at himself. He pulls the trigger and suddenly the bullet is going through him. Going through her as him or him as her. Ricocheting off the glass and piercing her chest, knocking her back.

The mirror turns suddenly and he's back in his own body, looking in from the outside, watching the life drain from her in vibrant red. Again.

He looks down and there's blood splattered over his board. The mirror is gone, the words have changed. _Please stay_.

She's trying to say something but he can't hear. He sees the shape of his name forming on her lips and he tries to reach her but they're holding him back. Short, tall, fat, skinny versions of him all pull him away. He fights, kicks and fits and cries out for her.

"Kate!"

His ragged voice screams out in his office and his echo strikes him in the back of the head. It knocks him forward as his eyes open wide on a startled gasp. The ceramic slips from his fingers.

There's a transient moment of stillness, of calm. The smallest instant before the mug crashes to the floor and shatters.

He drops hard, panic licking hot up his spine. His knees connect first and then his chin presses to the floorboards, body scrambling desperately under his desk.

The stairs thunder and he moves fast. His hands come out, palms landing on splintered pieces of his fallen mug and pulling him out of the suffocating space. He scampers across the floor and presses his back against the wall.

Blood. It registers, but, his blood or her blood? _Kate_.

He's dizzy, sweating, too cold. He's choking and his chest is getting tighter and tighter. There's movement, it's light and dark again and he's trapped. He's suspended in some hellish third space, some in-between dreams and reality and his looping madness is flashing in-front of him.

_Kate. Kate. Kate_.

It feels like there's something in the room. Something dark closing in on him with teeth but he can't look. He can't move.

Awake but not awake. The fear is debilitating.

His whole body is trembling against the wall. He's gasping as he sobs. "Kate. Kate. Kate…"

* * *

_A/N: Um, so that happened :/_

_Thanks, for sticking around even though life has gotten between you and I. I write as often as life allows, and try my best to keep updating, I promise you this._

_Loathe, like, love?_


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